


Care of Cell 44

by stevieraebarnes



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arkham Asylum, Batman & Robin AU, Epistolary, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, It's Bruce, M/M, Post Battle for the Cowl, Swearing, Vague Jaydick, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-06-09 13:15:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15268272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/pseuds/stevieraebarnes
Summary: In which Dick writes to Jason who's in Arkham Asylum and a few times that Jason writes back.





	Care of Cell 44

**Author's Note:**

> Here. Have this weird mash up of Battle for the Cowl and Batman & Robin. It was just an excuse to have Dick and Jason write letters to each other. So, suspend your disbelief and enjoy this self-serving AU.
> 
> *Watch out for brief, strong language, references to Bruce Wayne's canonical death/disappearance, and a vague sexual proposition. Otherwise it's a very mild-mannered fic, I swear!

J,

I'm sorry this is how things ended up. I never wanted us divided. I hope Arkham can give you what myself and the others cannot.

The asylum doesn't allow you visitors right now, I learned today. I considered dropping by anyways, but I don't want to make B’s mistakes. I want to respect your privacy. Until then, the hospital staff assured me that you would receive this letter at some point. I'm trying to be optimistic; about a lot of things, actually. I've lost too many people recently. You know who I mean. And you...I still feel like we just got you back. Now you're gone again.

I hope you can come back to us.

Take care,

Dick

 

* * *

 

Hi J,

I heard what B asked of you in his will. I don't know what happened to you in your past that B was so concerned about, but I can guess. I hope you can get help for whatever it is. Just because B asked you to find someone to talk to, it doesn’t mean he’s wrong. This time, anyways. You and I have both seen a level of stubbornness that he only felt comfortable sharing with us.

If there's anything I can do, please let me know.

Dick

 

* * *

 

Hi again,

I don't expect you to write me back. I want you to know that I'm not expecting anything. I just want you to know that I'm here.

It's hard without B around. He's got some big shoes to fill. I find myself tripping. And sometimes I wonder that with B gone if you are more at peace. What are your thoughts over B’s death anyways? Did you really want him dead? Do you wish he was alive?

Right. You don't have to answer those questions. No expectations. I remember. I wish I could talk to you, or talk with you. I feel like I’m talking at you. Towards you? I don’t know if you even read my letters. I think you would be impressed by the amount of self-control I’m exhibiting. I mean, I could just break in unnoticed in the dead of night.

I hope you are well.

Dick

 

* * *

 

Dick,

If you writing to me is your way of trying to assuage your guilt, then I want you to know that I do not forgive you.

 

* * *

 

I understand, J. I really do. I’m okay with you not forgiving me. I don’t quite forgive myself. Though I stand by my actions. I mean, you gotta admit you needed some kind of intervention.

But I think we can just...move on?? I don’t know. What do you want?

Dick

 

* * *

 

J,

Happy holidays. Does the asylum decorate for holidays? I don’t recall it ever dressing up the patient's area.

Alfred somehow managed a gigantic fir tree for the foyer again. I don’t know how he does it. Maybe he borrows some of B’s special gear to get the tree inside and perfectly upright. I can just see him, outfitted with a bunch of equipment, engaged in a raging battle with a villain of the coniferous type, and then finally successfully binding it in ribbon, and tinsel, and ornaments.

I asked the staff if you’re allowed visitors yet and they said no. Would you like me to break in? Otherwise, you’ll just have to pick up your present when you’re better. Don’t worry. Alfred picked it out. I’ll give you three guesses.

I hope the new year brings us both some good fortune. My wheel feels rather down.

Dick

 

* * *

 

Hey J,

Sorry it's been awhile since my last letter. I got hurt on my night job. The worker’s comp is terrible. You got any tips on how to deal with the boredom of healing?

Dick

 

* * *

 

Dick,

Get over yourself.

And don't be an idiot. Go see Leslie. Follow Alfred’s instructions. Find a book. Your letters prove that you can read.

How are the Gotham Knights this season?

 

* * *

 

J!!!

The Knights are terrible! Just like every season. I think it makes them more endearing. I took Damian to a game and that was a huge mistake. Three hours of him complaining, yelling, mocking the players’ athletic prowess, and damning the concession food to hell just to highlight what is was like. Kids these days, am I right?

I took your advice, by the way.

Alfred patched me up and I see Leslie every now and then to make sure I’m healing correctly. It’s still boring. And I’m still a bit sore. And stiff. And I don’t know how B did this for so long because I’m only in my twenties and already I feel too old for this shit. I miss doing things my way; in the air and quick on my feet. Why did you want this mantle anyways, J? It’s terrible and heavy and Jim always looks at me with this face of surprised confusion, which tells me that I don’t quite have what it takes to be B. Jim actually turned to me and said that he wasn’t used to me still hanging around instead of disappearing mid-conversation. Remember how B used to do that? It used to drive me crazy. Then again, I was raised by performers where I learned early that leaving mid-performance is the height of rudeness. I guess you could say the height of rudeness is 6’2”, eh? Ha, I’m laughing.

If I’m being honest, I’ll take whatever laughter I can get. But I’ll tell you all about that another time.

The staff confided in me that they think you’re progressing well. I don’t think they were supposed to tell me that, though. Pretty sure it goes against procedure. But what can I say? I just have a trustworthy face, I guess. So, I want you to know that I’m not prying, but I’m glad to hear that you seem to be doing well. Of course they could be lying. I’d much rather have an update from you. I’m around, you know. Send any letters to the manor just like it says on the back of the envelope.

Dick

 

* * *

 

Dickie,

I don’t know why you keep writing to me. I don’t know why you keep investing in something broken.

I’m so angry. And you know what? I have a lot to be angry about. There were problems before B, I admit that. And I know that B tried in his own bizarre way to help me. But B didn’t care about personal boundaries. He didn’t care if someone preferred to keep things to themselves. B collected everyone’s secrets and never bothered to share why. He never bothered to share any of his own. You could walk into a room, and find all of yourself pulled apart and mapped. All of a person’s flaws and deeds charted and graphed. There are things that I didn’t consent for him to know. How is he any different from the people of my past?

I’m angry at B. At what he did. At his failures. I’m angry that he’s gone. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel except that I am mad at so many injustices in my life, in the entire world, and I don’t see how you writing to me is going to fix any of this. You’re wasting your time. I’m broken and unfixable and at the end of the day you get to walk away and say that you tried. Well, fuck you, that doesn’t sit well with me. I’m not an experiment that people can poke and prod. I don’t want your casual touches; a small presence that can easily flit away. I don’t want your pats on the back, trying to somehow comfort me in a shitty situation. If you’re going to touch me, Dickie, you’re going to need to do so in a way that I’ll forget this fucking nightmare of a world we live in. Do you understand what I’m saying? It’s going to need to feel so fucking good.

Now, the way I see it, you’ve got two options before you: you either quit this game or you comply. Either way I win. Looking forward to your next letter. It’s been nice knowing you.

 

* * *

 

J,

The hospital staff continues to inform me that you’re not allowed visitors, so any physical therapy I can bring you is off the table for now. I’m calling it physical therapy, but I’m pretty sure you mean something else that is physical. Either way, I can be very *flexible*. That’s if I’m interpreting your vague proposition correctly?? Otherwise, oh well. You now know something else about me.

I get your anger. I really do. I’m angry at a lot of the same things B did as you are. And I want to do this right; giving you support. I want you to know that all of this is for you, not for me or any guilt or a hero complex I may have. Plus, I’m not trying to fix you. That’s definitely not a job I signed up for. I just want to do better this time. I wasn’t around much when you were younger. Can I be here now?

Dick

 

* * *

 

I know you’re trying, but I’ll believe it when I see it, Dickie. You’re just gonna have to wait until I get out of here. Hope that new suit you’re wearing doesn’t take away your flexibility you brag about so much.

J

 

* * *

 

Jason,

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this letter. I don’t know where you are. All I know is that you were taken; that you didn’t escape Arkham. You were forcibly pulled from it.

I’m working hard to find you. I want to find you. I want you to come back. Not to Arkham, but back to the family. Well, to me anyways. I’ll be leaving this letter on your bed in the hopes that maybe you still think of the manor as your home and that you’ll come back. My gut says that it’s a long shot.

I’m sitting at your old desk, writing this. I haven’t been in your room for a long time. I forgot how the sunshine would warm it in the afternoon. I remember it being comforting in the winter, but it must've been sweltering in the summer. Sweltering is a fun word to write.

Your stuff is still here. I’m surrounded by it while I write to you. Your bedding and posters and there are some books spilling out of the shelving unit. Even though it’s been so long since I’ve been in here, I remember all of it so clearly. I remember you. How you used to be. Have you really changed so much, Jay? Or is there still some Little Wing left? I remember you in this room, posturing, trying to conceal your barely contained energy. I remember your mouth a hard line, but there was laughter in your eyes. I often thought you were laughing at me. I didn’t care. It made me smile.

I’ll keep looking. Or maybe you’ll find me. Maybe we can get to know each other a second time. You can tell me all about everything. Maybe you’ll laugh.

Dick

 

* * *

 

Found you, Dickie.

Can I stay awhile?

PS: I can't find the present Alfred picked out in this mess of an apartment you live in.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This story took root in my brain while listening to the song “Care of Cell 44”. While the song was written and performed by The Zombies, I listened to the version by A B and the Sea. The cover can be found on youtube [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBIw10NL0_4)
> 
> Oh, yeah. I have a [tumblr](https://stevieraebarnes.tumblr.com)


End file.
